


Cup of Kindness

by H4T08



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Christmas Special, Gen, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H4T08/pseuds/H4T08
Summary: A small collection on one shots from the 2018 Christmas Special.





	1. Finally, the Cigarette you had Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adored this Christmas Special! Yes, there could have been more Turnadette moments, however, I found the small moments between Shelagh and Sister Julienne to be lovely. Not to mention, that struggle that you can still see between Shelagh and her past religious life is still quite fascinating.
> 
> The title is from the song "Auld Lang Syne".

“What a wonderful way to ring in the new year,” Shelagh smiles as both she and Sister Julienne look at the new the newest family from their perch at the door. “Speaking of which,” she taps on the older nun’s arm and tilts her head towards the exit, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you since getting home from the Mother House.”

Both women gather their coats, Shelagh leading the charge towards the back of the surgery, a small hiding spot she and Patrick had made use since their earlier days of marriage.

As they step outside, Sister Julienne sighs, “I have been giving thanks everyday for the invaluable help you had given me at the Mother House. I know, it was not easy to return back there, especially with Sister Margaret’s attitude towards your appearance.”

The older nun’s cold shoulder did cause Shelagh to falter in her step, but she had reasoned to expect this from Sister Margaret. “She was not happy to see me renounce my vows, but, if my memory serves me right, she was never happy when any sister renounced their vows, especially when the reason came from the opposite sex.”

Sister Julienne giggles into the back of her hand, “Still, your support means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Shelagh looks both ways before producing two cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. “I know you have no reason to enjoy these now, but I figured, we never got to them in the first place.”

“I shouldn’t,” Sister Julienne bites down on her bottom lip, glancing over her shoulder before murmuring, “however, I won’t tell, if you won’t.”

“Mums the word,” Shelagh strikes the lighter, its flame igniting both cigarettes.

Slipping the slim cigarette between her fingers, Sister Julienne takes a blessed puff, coughing out a bit of the smoke. “It’s been…,” she stops and visibly swallows, “it’s been a long time since I have indulged myself with a cigarette. Charlie was the one who had introduced me to them. I knew my father would sternly object to such an act, but, at that time, I didn’t care.”

Shelagh glides the tip of her thumb along the filter as the memory of that name and his importance floods back. “Were there other things he introduced you to?”

Sister Julienne bites down on her bottom lip, the blush flushing across her cheeks can even be seen in the darkened night. “I allowed him to kiss me a few times. I was curious as to the passion growing inside me; was it this calling into the religious life or was it this boy whom I had known wanted to marry me?”

“Patrick and I shared a cigarette when I was still in the habit,” Shelagh quickly confesses. _One confession in exchange for another._ “It was after a difficult birth and it... just… happened.”

“Did you, uhh, share anything else?”

Shelagh presses her lips together in a fine, white line to keep herself from laughing out loud, “Other than a few longing glances, no.”

“And now you two have a growing family with little May,” Sister Julienne gushes, “at least for the time being.”

“And with a bunny,” Shelagh gives an exasperated sigh. “We promised both Angela and May that we would go to the pet shop to pick out a bunny. And when I say ‘we’, I really mean ‘Patrick’.”

Sister Julienne laughs into the cold night air and then covers her mouth as it reverberates off of the brick walls. “Oh, my dear Shelagh,” she reaches out and captures her hand, “you are the bravest woman I know.”

“No,” the younger woman vehemently shakes her head, “I believe the bravest woman goes to Sister Evangelina, especially with all the things she had done during the war.”

“While I agree Sister Evangelina showed strength and tenacity during those trying times, you, my dear, reached out and had taken ahold of the things you wanted, even though you were taught to be obedient in the life you lived. You looked scared the day you told me that you wanted more out of life at the Sanatorium.”

“Petrified was more like it,” Shelagh boisterously quips. “However, I had Patrick by my side, holding my hand, showing me the way with his kindness and love.” Just as the burning ember reaches the filter, she stubs it out against the brick, taking Sister Julienne’s and doing the same, their time now coming to a close.

“I have to be going,” Sister Julienne begins.

Shelagh checks her watch, “Will you make it in time to start Compline?”

“With time to spare to wash out my mouth of this cigarette taste.” Sister Julienne steals a look around, “Out of all of the years the maternity home has been here, I didn’t know this little part existed.”

It is Shelagh turn to blush, memories upon memories rush through her mind of her and Patrick sneaking in a cigarette or enjoying a bit of quiet time together or fighting those hellacious fights that neither wanted the children to overhear or making up from those same fights with the brick wall and the moon as their only witness. “I, uhhh, didn’t know about it either until Patrick and I married.”

“Charlie and I had a similar area where we could visit without the prying eyes of others, namely my brother.” Sister Julienne’s eyes glitter with mischief. “However, I imagine this brick wall has seen far more action than the brick wall behind the cinema.”

Shelagh instantly looks away, not in shame, but in embarrassment at being caught. Quickly opening the door, she scoots in Sister Julienne with the flick of her wrist, “Why don’t you wash up here? With Sister Monica Joan’s perfect olfactory nerves working in pristine condition, she will know exactly what you had been up to.” She directs her to the small bathroom down the hall.

“How fortuitous to have a bathroom so close to this otherwise unknown alleyway,” Sister Julienne’s giggle can no longer be contained when Shelagh’s eyes widen to those of a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh, my dear,” she says sympathetically, “I am sorry for ribbing you while you have shown nothing but kindness, but after the numerous years of knowing you and watching our relationship grow out of the confines of a religious order, you are the only one I can make these jokes with.”

“Well, other than the nights where this spot will be otherwise occupied, anytime you are in need of a cigarette or a talk, please do not hesitate to ask.” Shelagh reaches out and clasps Sister Julienne’s hand, “I will always be here for you.”

Patting her wrinkled hand on the smoother one, Sister Julienne smiles, “Thank you.”


	2. Nivea Hand Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My second favorite scene from the Christmas Special...

“Hello Sister Julienne,” Trixie’s smile is perfected with the bright shade of lipstick.

“Hello Nurse Franklin.” The older nun glances over her shoulder before quietly asking, “Were you able to bring it?”

Already one step ahead, Trixie pulls out a small blue pot and hands it to her. “You may keep it, I don’t need to use it when I have other creams that I was able to buy in Paris.”

“Thank you, Nurse Franklin,” Sister Julienne reaches out to the younger woman, “thank you so much.” Stepping to the side, she walks down the secluded halls, turning and weaving until she reaches the room on the end. When she knocks on the door, a younger woman answers, “Am I able to speak with her?”

Before the novitiate can shake her head, Sister Jesu Emmanuel’s voice calls out, “For a dear friend, you may come in any time you wish.”

Stepping past the younger woman, Sister Julienne settles down next to the bed. “We will be leaving soon.”

“I had prayed so hard for you to receive the position as Mother Superior.”

“Yes,” Sister Julienne bites down on her bottom lip, “however, I think God had put power to the pen when Sister Mildred was named Superior. My life, my work is back in Poplar where I must return.” Letting go of her friend’s hand, she pulls out the small pot of Nivea, “But, not before I help you with some hand cream.”

“Nivea?” Sister Jesu Emmanuel’s face lights up. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” uncapping it, Sister Julienne swipes a small dot onto her finger and begins to rub it into the wrinkled hand of her close friend.

Sister Jesu Emmanuel takes a shaky breath, her bottom lip quivering from the emotions they have all been taught to be rid of. “It smells…,” a tear glides down her cheek, “it smells heavenly.”

Sister Julienne expertly pushes back her own tears as she rubs the Nivea into her other hand. “There,” she clears her throat as she screws the cap back on. “I will leave strict instructions for your caretaker to put this on twice a day.”

“My dearest friend,” Sister Jesu Emmanuel reaches out and clasps Sister Julienne’s hand, “words cannot even begin to express how thankful I am for having you in my life.”

Sister Julienne lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles, “Good night, Sister.”

 

**Three months later…**

—Knock,Knock—

“Come in,” Sister Julienne looks up from her note to see Nurse Crane glide in with a tray of tea and a package.

“I noticed that you were not present for tea this afternoon, so I decided to make you a cup and to bring you the post.” Nurse Crane settles the tray down on the desk and then takes a step back. “I have noticed that since Sister Jesu Emmanuel’s death, both you and Sister Monica Joan have taken to silence.”

“Her death, even though we had known it was coming, is still rather difficult to grasp,” Sister Julienne bypasses the teacup and, instead, reaches for the package.

“All the same, your presence is missed,” taking her leave, Nurse Crane quietly closes the door.

Reading the front of the package to see that it is from the Mother House, Sister Julienne quickly opens it, expecting to see a letter from Sister Winifred or a lost item being returned to its rightful owner from the nativity play. Instead, a small blue pot falls into her hand along with a note.

 

_To my dearest Sister,_

_I am nearing the end of my life. The Nivea cream, its delightful smell and its creamy texture, has done its job of reminding me of better times and precious moments._

_While I will miss you most of all, my dear friend, I pray that you will see my death as more of a ‘I will see you soon’ rather than a ‘goodbye’._

_I know that as the former Mother Superior, I am supposed to remind you of our vow of poverty, however, I wish for you to have this. Your happiness is far more important to me._

_Be happy, my friend, and enjoy life with the people who you wish to surround yourself with._

_With love_

 

Reading the note over and over again, Sister Julienne feels the tears she has been keeping at bay flowing down her cheeks. Opening the pot of cream, she holds it up to her nose and lightly inhales, the scent brings forth a set of memories from her last days as a novitiate.

With a timid hand and shaky fingers, she swipes a small dollop on the the tip of her middle finger and rubs it onto the back of her hand.

Closing the lid after both hands feel as silky as the satin gloves she wore when she took her final vows, she gently places the pot into her desk drawer. With her tears of sorrow now dried and wiped clean, Sister Julienne makes her way down into the parlor where she finds a handful of nurses creating Easter bonnets of the girl’s brigade.


	3. There Shall Be No Men During Tea Time!

Enjoying the silence of her tea as the chaos reigns outside of the double doors, Shelagh nearly drops her teacup when there is a sharp knock. Glancing down at the long table of wimples, and habits, and faith, she stands to answer the door, praying very hard that it is either Mrs. Buckle or one of the nurses.

“Shelagh,” the familiar deep voice reaches out to her when she opens the door, “the nativity play is nearly set up. Most of the children are dressed, although, one child is still missing a pair of stockings while another is now missing his Shepard’s hook.”

Before she can thank him for the update and to send him on his way, Sister Mildred speaks up with her boisterous voice, “Doctor Turner, please come in and join your wife for tea. I dare say, you have earned it with the caravan you had brought from Poplar.”

Glancing at his wife first to gage her reaction, she placates it and steps to the side. Obedience to the new Mother Superior once again weighing far heavier than what is the right thing to do.

“Thank you,” Patrick begins, yet, once his eyes follow down the long table of her former religious sisters, his gratitude wavers, “uhh, thank you, however, I’m sure help is—”

“Nonsense!”

Shelagh glances down the table; while most of the women are impervious to a man being in their silent presence during tea time, the younger novitiates flush bright pink as the stricter nuns push their noses up in disgust. “Mother Mildred—”

“There shall be no men during our tea time,” Sister Margaret speaks up from the other end of the table.

“He is not any man,” Sister Mildred rolls her eyes, “he is Mrs. Turner’s husband. He should be able to have tea with his wife.”

“He is also the same man who tempted our dear Sister Bernadette with the sins of the flesh.” The older nun looks at Patrick with the upmost contempt. “He knowingly took advantage of her confused state and used it to appease his own mortal desires.”

“Sister Margaret,” Shelagh sternly admonishes, “while I sympathize that the rules you have been charged with keeping have been broken, I will not have you talk to my husband that way. He did not tempt me and he certainly never took advantage of me. Just because I left the religious life does not mean I am now a godless woman sinning within the throes of deviance.” Taking a deep breath to calm her anger, she turns back to Sister Mildred, “My apologies Mother Mildred for the outburst, we will take our leave now.”

Grasping Patrick’s hand, she pulls him out of the room and down the back hallway past all of the noise and confusion of the nativity play. Bursting out of the doors, she walks the path that she has marked so many times as a both a novitiate and a nun towards the chapel. Finally letting go of his hand, she stalks up to the alter and falls to her knees, clasping her hands in prayer.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick whispers from behind her.

Shelagh glances up to the cross, its strength and guidance always a beacon in her life. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Sister Margaret…,” she bites down on her bottom lip, “she was my teacher while I was a novitiate. She taught us the rules of the religious life, never sugar-coating the difficulty of obedience.” She presses her palms together, her fingers pressing into her knuckles, “She helped me into my wedding dress when I took my vows.”

“And then ten years later, she finds out that you are leaving the religious life,” Patrick quietly fills in.

Standing up from the hard stone, she turns to find Patrick sitting in one of the pews off to the side. “She thought I had left the religious life for the pleasures of flesh,” she settles down next to him, wrapping her arm around his elbow. “I left because I wanted more, more than what the religious life could give me.”

“And now?”

She looks to him, a tiny seed of doubt cast along his handsome features, the hazel eyes she fell madly in love with now drawn with worry. “Now, I have everything I wanted and more. I have a husband, whom I love with every inch of my soul, a family who fills my life with love and devotion, and a job that gives me purpose.”

He leans in and kisses her forehead, “I love you, my darling wife.”

She looks up into his eyes, butterflies still fluttering about in the pit of her belly, even after all this time. “I love you, my dearest husband.” Extending her chin, she captures his lips with her own.

“There shall be no kissing in the chapel,” a voice rings off the walls.

Shelagh can feel Patrick beginning to tense in panic, but she knows better, “God has already witnessed an abundance of transgressions between us, including the conceiving and birth of our child. I don’t think he would mind a small kiss.”

“Fair point, Bern.”

Giving Patrick one more kiss on the cheek, Shelagh then stands from the pew, Patrick following not too far behind. “Patrick, this is Sister Hilda. Hild, this is Patrick.”

“The sins of the flesh himself,” Sister Hilda dryly murmurs.

Shelagh playfully rolls her eyes, “Hilda and I were novitiates together.”

Patrick smiles a friendly smile; however, he remains quiet.

“I can see that he’s impressed,” Sister Hilda quips as she looks between both of them. “I wanted to let you know that Sister Margaret has retired for the rest of the evening until Compline, the Nativity play will be staring soon, and there is an adorable little girl by the name of Angela wondering if there are bunnies around here for her parents to take home. In other words,” she murmurs with the slight curve of her brow, “you are needed in the main house.”

“Very well,” Shelagh sighs, burying her hand in Patrick’s, “and, if Angela continues to ask, you have no bunnies here for us to take.”

“Already done and dusted, old friend,” Sister Hilda leads them out of the chapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I read in a article (maybe on Radio Times or in the press packets) that Sister Hilda was in the WAAF during the war before she became a nun! I would love for the show to explore her backstory!!


	4. Shay Turner's, Mobile Location

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Turners in their new car... oh the possibilities! 
> 
> So, I think, if you are to go into any music app on your phone and type in '1963', click on any of the already made playlists and that is the music playing on the radio.
> 
> I would rate this a T! While the car is a rocking, it doesn't get anymore explicit that this. ;D

“Patrick?” Shelagh turns to her husband as the city landscape melds into the country. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to dinner,” he murmurs with an affectionate smile.

“But all the restaurants are all behind us, dear,” she twirls around her seat as the last of the buildings becomes smaller and smaller in the dying light of the sun.

“I’m taking you to a new one that is outside the city.” He reaches out to capture her hand as the Beatles play on the radio. “I assure you, you will love it.”

“Okay,” she steals a glance at him, her suspicions garnering speed at the sneaky smile playing on his lips.

Throwing the car back into a cozy silence, the rock and roll on the radio turns to a girl group singing a catchy tune on where the love had gone from a relationship. Listening to the lyrics, Shelagh feels her heart tugging into the pit of her belly.

While her and Patrick have been busy almost to the point of exhaustion; new clinics to run at the surgery now that funding towards the maternity home has decreased, a few more squabbles than from before she was asked to work as a midwife, and not to mention their family unexpectedly growing by a child – _and a bloody bunny_ , she grumbles in her mind – at Christmas time. Yes, they were busier, now more than ever, but Patrick had somehow managed to take her out for the anniversary, a feat she was still unsure how he had managed by himself.  _Especially after last night's disastrous fight..._

Feeling the ground rumble underneath the car, Shelagh blinks a few times to see that she was in her head for a lot longer than she had thought; a new song blaring through the radio, not to mention, their new whereabouts with no restaurant to be seen. “Patrick, where is the restaurant?”

He looks to her with those playful dimples she had fallen in love with and kisses her cheek, “You’re looking at it.” At her blank look, he kisses her on her lips and opens the door, “You stay here. I will come and get you.” Before she can say anything else, he slams the car door and disappears into the night. Opening the boot, she looks back to see him working away at lighting a few lanterns and fiddling with something. When he sees her looking back, he gives her another charming smile that makes her heart do summersaults with her belly. “No peeking.”

“There’s nothing to be peeking at,” she mutters under her breath as she turns back to the front as ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ begins its smooth melody.

Opening the door on her side, he holds out his hand for her to take. Stepping into the unsteady ground, she holds onto his arm as he takes her to the back of the car. “Welcome to Shay Turner’s, their mobile location.”

Her heart ticks against her chest as she takes in all of his hard work; a few lanterns off to the sides with a blanket spread out and a picnic basket opened and ready from them to eat. Turning to her dear, sweet husband, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him like the silliest of fools. “Oh Patrick,” she leans out of their embrace, his cozy arms tightening around her body, “this is absolutely lovely.”

“This is only the beginning,” taking one of the lanterns, his hand glides into her own and pulls her to the road. “I know you can’t see it now but this—”

“Patrick!” She let’s go of his hand and twirls along the desolate road. “This is… this is the road you found me on.”

He captures her cheeks within his palm, “No, my beautiful wife, this is the road we found each other on.” He kisses her again, the softness of his lips making her loose her breath. She would have kept kissing him had it not been the grumble of her stomach to make him take a step away. “Come along, darling, let’s enjoy our picnic.” Bringing her back to the car, they both sit on the edge of the boot, while he takes out a bottle of wine and their food neatly wrapped.

“I hope you remembered the cork screw,” she coyly murmurs.

“Hence the reason I was late in picking you up,” he sheepishly grins, “I had to swing by the Buckles to borrow theirs since I didn’t pack it away earlier.” Working the cork out of the bottle, he pours the red wine into both of their glasses. “Cheers to our five-year anniversary.”

“To many more,” they tap their glasses and take a sip. The red is a bit to bitter for her taste, yet, at this particular moment, she doesn’t care. Stealing another sip, she sets down her glass and goes to unwrap their food.

“I, uhhh, wanted to do this myself,” Patrick nervously mutters as she holds up her sandwich. “I didn’t want anyone else to cook for us, but,” he pulls out two small Tupperware bowls, “I had Ms. Higgins pop over to the deli to get us some macaroni salad.”

“I bet she loved that,” Shelagh sarcastically says when he gives her a fork.

“She grumbled a bit, however, when I told her it was to go with the sandwiches I made, she went on her way, muttering how men should never be allowed in the kitchen during desperate times.”

Shelagh giggles into her fork, “You should never be in the kitchen at anytime to cook food.”

“Sandwiches, tea, and coffee is about the most I can handle.”

“Spectacularly, dearest,” she leans in and give him a quick kiss on his cheek before diving into her sandwich, Jim Reeves singing the tune of love behind them. With half of her food devoured, she picks up her wine glass, glancing at him through her eyelashes. As he plays with his food, she reaches out and captures his hand, “Patrick?”

“I’m sorry,” he lifts up her hand and kisses her palm, her scar now faint after the vestiges of time. “We have been having more fights than normal, last night’s quarrel was…”

Memories of their fight in question causes her to quiver, the words they had both said in anger, him stomping out of the house to walk around the block, the tears she had wiped away when had came in through the door. “We have so much on our plate.” She runs her thumb along his bottom lip, “Despite everything, I love you to the moon and back.”

“We have taken on a lot,” he kisses the pad of thumb, “but maybe we can take more time for us to be together, just ourselves.”

“As extravagant as that seems, I would like that, very much so,” she smiles as she leans in and kisses him. “Now, finish your dinner, dearest.” She tries to pull her hand away, but he refuses to let go, instead kissing her palm several more times, as if she is his testament. “Patrick,” she shyly murmurs, desire coiling in the pit of her belly.

“I want you, quite desperately,” his lips trail along her wrist. “The moment we walk back into our house, we will not have a chance, especially with May finding her way into our bed every night.”

The reason for their fight the night before. She had missed their nights together, disrupted by May’s nightmares and, eventually, her trek into their bedroom. They had not been intimate since Christmas night and it had taken its toll on their marriage.

Gathering the courage needed to swallow her excuses, she hooks her hand around his neck and closes the distance between their lips. Their clothes piling around them as they itch to feel skin upon skin, a slow melody of a woman wanting her lover. The cool dark air around cast them within its shadow, no other light but the lanterns partially hidden behind the picnic basket.

Standing up from the edge, Patrick’s pants down around his ankles as his wife’s legs wrap around his waist, she encourages him to melt together as one with the slight nod of her head. Their sighs and moans combine as heated breaths fight for dominance.

When they both reach their respective precipice, her quiet shivers to his powerful thrust, and they lay in each other’s arms, she murmurs against the shell of his ear, “Maybe our times should be spent in a hotel room.”

He lightly trails his lips along her collarbone, goosebumps erupting all over her exposed skin. “Talk about extravagance, but I will gladly pay it just to have you all to myself, even if it’s for a few blessed hours.”

She kisses his lobe, the truth of the quarrel inside him now reaching the light; he is jealous of the time she gives to others. Right then and there, she knows that there will have to be changes made in order for them to survive this rough patch, to save their marriage. “Patrick, I know things have not been the best, but I’m going to try and make it better.”

“I love you, my darling wife.”

She knows its not going to be an easy fix between them, but it’s a start. “I love you, my dearest husband.”

Easing off of her, he kisses the tip of her nose before gathering their now wrinkled clothes. “Oh, bloody hell!”

Glancing up from buttoning up her blouse, she admonishes, “Patrick!”

“The wine spilt and now there’s a large stain, including, I’m sorry to say, on your coat.” He shows her the evidence of their interlude all down the back of her yellow coat. “The stain in the boot is far easier to reason than both the stains at the same time.”

“Well,” her cheeks grow warm despite the cool night, “maybe I can ask Trixie how to get wine stain out of a coat and apply the same principal to the car.” Reaching for the half-filled bottle, she pours more wine into both of their glasses, “But that doesn’t mean we should not enjoy ourselves now.”

Shrugging off his own coat, he wraps it around her shoulders before twirling to sit down next to her. “That’s my girl.” He holds up his glass, “To us.”

“To us,” she murmurs as she takes a sip of the wine, ‘Blue Bayou’ filling the quietness between them as they finish their food.

“Darling?” He busily stabs his fork through the last piece of macaroni. “Do you still keep your ‘nervous fathers and awkward social situations’ cigarettes in your handbag?”

She snaps her chin up, surprise shining brightly on her features.

Finding success in his last bite, the lines from his smile reach all the way to his sparkling eyes. “Sister Julienne slipped up during a difficult birth and she had tried her best to explain it away without trying to get you in trouble.”

Rolling her eyes, she grabs her bag, “That doesn’t mean you can take them at your leisure.” Stealing one from her full pack and a lighter, she hands it to him as she cleans up the rest of their mess.

“Come along, darling,” he scoots so that he is resting against the back seat. Joining him, her feet barely reaching the edge while his dangle off, they both take puffs of the cigarette. It isn’t until they reach the end when he asks, “How does Sister Julienne know about your secret stash of cigarettes?”

“It came up in a conversation while we were at the Mother House and that is all I will say to that.” Giving him the last puff, she lays her head on his shoulder. “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Me too, my darling,” he kisses the top of her head, “me too.”


End file.
